


Future Tense

by tacosandflowers



Series: by the prospect of the touch, by the memory of the feel [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, and some sex up against furniture, archaeologists!bellarke, if you care about Wells Jaha this will probably make you cry, lots of talking as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 17:10:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4230018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tacosandflowers/pseuds/tacosandflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're right,” Clarke says, and it doesn’t sound like she enjoys admitting it. “I haven't been in a relationship with anyone in a while. But I am now." She pulls her hand away to gesture towards him. "Let's try this again. This is Bellamy. He's my boyfriend. It's serious."</p><p>Abby's eyes fly to Bellamy, appraisingly. Great. These expectations are going to be really fun to live up to.</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p>Clarke and Bellamy go back to her hometown so she can give a speech at the opening reception for Wells Jaha Hall, and Bellamy finally meets Abby Griffin. A continuation of the "We are Undone by Each Other" universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Future Tense

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not even sure what this is, really, other than that this part of the story demanded to be told and it sure was painful to write. So here you have it. Special thanks go out to wordyanansi for always supporting me, to crytalkei for helping with the ending, and to the WhatsApp crew for listening to ideas and complaints as this came together. 
> 
> All mistakes are mine, and I don't own any of these things.

The opening reception for Wells Jaha Hall at the medical school where Clarke’s mother works falls on the Saturday of Labor Day weekend. Bellamy would like to meet the person who decided that scheduling the event on that day was a good idea. He has several points he would like to raise, the main two being that: a.) scheduling an event like this on a major holiday weekend when everyone and their mother is traveling is terrible for the people who have to travel to be at said event (everyone would rather be at a barbecue, honestly); and b.) the date is exactly five years from the day when the building’s namesake passed away, which feels borderline creepy. 

 

“My mom said the day just worked better than any other day because they want to do it before classes start, and it just happened to fall on the fifth,” Clarke had explained after a short phone call with her mother, but Bellamy could read the sadness in her eyes, and he knows that she’s upset by the timing of it all, however unintentional.

 

But she’s committed to going, to honor Wells’ memory, and she insists it’s fine, that she’ll be fine. So they head for Connecticut prepared to brave the chaos of long weekend travel crowds and, Bellamy knows, a tricky range of emotional triggers. He’s happy Clarke asked him to come with her, that she wants him to be there to support her while she faces something difficult. He just can’t help but be slightly nervous because Clarke’s going to feel sad no matter what, and he doesn’t like it when Clarke is sad. He hopes he can help her through it.

 

They fly in on the evening before the reception. They’d both been working hard all week to prepare for their classes that start the following week, and hadn’t made it to bed until late the night before—they’d only been back in Vancouver for a few weeks but they’ve already settled into a routine where they spend most nights at Clarke’s place. But they managed to get a few hours of sleep, and after getting up early to catch the train to the airport they have a tiring day of travel filled with crowds and delays. Eventually, their plane lands in Connecticut.

 

“How are you feeling about this?” Bellamy asks Clarke as they taxi to the gate. She’s grown more withdrawn as they got closer to their final destination, and by this point she’s staring at the safety card from the seat pocket in front of her like it holds some kind of clue to the mystery of the universe.

 

“I’m feeling... ready to get it over with,” she says.

 

“That excited,” he responds, but he says it gently. He doesn’t want to tease her too much. 

 

She sighs. “Coming back here is always tense,” she says. “And I was just here recently. But I agreed to come back for this, and I’m doing this for Wells. I just wish we could fast forward to the end already.”

 

He rests his hand on her upper back as they wait for their turn to exit the plane. Clarke has only recently begun opening up to him about her past, about the things that haunt her, so he is still figuring this all out. Her father died when she was a teenager, and then she lost Wells as a young adult, and she associates both of their deaths with this place. That alone makes it stressful.

 

And then there’s her mother. 

 

“It’s a really short trip,” he says.

 

“You haven’t yet experienced my mother’s ability to slow down time with her judgmental facial expressions,” Clarke replies. “This is going to feel way longer, trust me.”

 

He just rubs her back, because he’s not sure what to say when Clarke talks about her mother. He doesn’t have a mother anymore, she’s been gone for a while, and he’s never met Clarke’s mother, but he knows she stresses Clarke out. He’s curious to finally meet this woman. It’s really the closest mother interaction he’ll have had in a long time. So far he only knows a few things about Clarke’s mother: she comes from money, she’s the dean of a prestigious medical school. He has no idea what she’ll actually be like as a person. 

 

She certainly drives a nice car. The gleaming Mercedes pulls up to the curb in the arrivals area after Clarke texts that they’ve made it, and when she gets out of the car, Bellamy sees that she is tiny and severe, a bird-thin woman with darker coloring than he expected, wearing a tailored suit well into the evening. 

 

“Hi honey,” she says as she pulls Clarke in for a hug. Clarke returns the hug with slight stiffness, but she has managed to put a smile on her face.

 

“Hi Mom,” she says, and then she turns to Bellamy as she pulls away. “Mom, this is Dr. Bellamy Blake. Bellamy, this is my mom, Dr. Abby Griffin.”

 

Bellamy puts on his best dealing-with-rich-people face, something he’d had to perfect during his time at Penn, and reaches for her hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Dr. Griffin.”

 

She takes his hand and shakes it with a firmness he doesn’t expect from someone that small-boned. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Dr. Blake,” she says. She’s good at hiding it, but she doesn’t quite manage to completely mask the flash of something along the lines of suspicion that crosses her face. “I have to admit I was surprised when Clarke told me she was bringing somebody with her.”

 

Bellamy keeps a straight face even as Clarke rolls her eyes out of her mother’s line of vision. “Well, she brought me,” is all he can think of to say. He's not really sure exactly what Clarke has told her mother about him—about them—but based on what he’s seen of their communication in the time he’s known Clarke, he's guessing it's minimal.

 

“Can we go?” Clarke asks, throwing her bag in the trunk of the Benz and motioning for Bellamy to do the same. “We’re exhausted from traveling all day.”

 

Abby keeps her eyes on Bellamy for another moment before turning back to Clarke. “Of course,” she says crisply, and returns to the driver’s seat. 

 

When they pull up to the house, Bellamy can’t help but stare in awe at the sheer size of it. He knows Clarke had a privileged upbringing, but this house is straight-up ridiculous. The house he grew up in could fit inside the freestanding garage alone.

 

"You have a lovely home, Dr. Griffin," Bellamy says as they follow Abby inside. 

 

"It's pretty gigantic for one person, isn't it?" Clarke remarks. "I've encouraged Mom to downsize, but..." 

 

"This is our family home, Clarke," Abby says. "I inherited it from my parents, and someday you'll inherit it from me."

  
Clarke sighs. "Yeah, this place is really conveniently located for commuting to my job across the continent in another country."

  
Abby just sighs in response. Bellamy guesses that this is not a new conversation topic. 

  
"I had Marcella put some food from dinner aside for you both, in case you're hungry," Abby says, all practical poise. "Clarke, your room is ready, and I had the green guest room prepared for Dr. Blake."

  
Clarke turns sharply towards her mother. "Oh, no. Bellamy is staying with me." 

  
_Oh shit_ , Bellamy thinks as he watches Abby's eyebrows rise.

 

"I'm sorry?"

 

"Bellamy is staying in my room, with me," Clarke says, walking over and putting her hand on his bicep. "We're dating."

 

Abby looks at Bellamy and he can see how surprised she is by the news. So clearly Clarke had told her nothing.

 

"I knew you worked together but I didn't realize he was also your boyfriend," Abby says. "You didn't think to mention this when you told me your plans?"

 

Clarke sighs again and Bellamy can't help but notice how much her sigh is like her mother’s. He decides he should probably never tell her that, if he knows what’s good for him. 

 

"You thought I was just bringing my work colleague to a death anniversary party for fun?" Clarke asks. "I’m sorry I didn’t mention it, but I assumed you'd figure it out, since it was clearly implied."

 

"It is _not_ a death anniversary party, Clarke, and you assumed wrong," Abby says. "I didn't even realize you were actively dating. You haven't been with anyone since..."

 

"Since Wells?” Clarke finishes for her. “Ha. I have been with people, Mom, I'm not a nun."

 

Abby blanches slightly at the implication. “You know what I mean, Clarke.”

 

"You're right,” Clarke says, and it doesn’t sound like she enjoys admitting it. “I haven't been in a relationship with anyone in a while. But I am now." She pulls her hand away to gesture towards him. "Let's try this again. This is Bellamy. He's my boyfriend. It's serious."

 

Abby's eyes fly to Bellamy, appraisingly. Great. These expectations are going to be really fun to live up to. She looks him up and down as if seeing him in a new light.

 

Her eyes narrow as she turns her gaze back to Clarke. "How long have you been together?"

 

Clarke's face flushes. Bellamy is sure he's blushing too because, well, there are a few answers to that question, depending on what one means by "together." 

 

"Since this summer," Clarke answers, which is definitely the safest answer, and the one he’d begun officially counting from. "But we've been in each other's lives for a long time. I asked him to come with me because he supports me, and god knows I'm going to need all the support I can get to deal with everything tomorrow." 

 

"So this is relatively new," Abby says. 

 

“It is,” Clarke replies, her hand reaching back to find Bellamy’s arm again, this time sliding her fingers down to his hand. He squeezes her fingers and she squeezes back. “And it isn’t.”

 

Bellamy looks at her after she says this, moved by her words. Because that’s the perfect response to her mother’s statement. _It is, and it isn’t_. She is facing her mother in a borderline challenging stance, and he thinks for the millionth time that she’s beautiful. He can’t keep the slight smile completely off his face, but he manages to pull it back to serious by the time he faces Abby again.

 

Abby is watching them curiously, but once his eyes meet hers she reverts back to composed politeness.

 

“Well, that’s… nice, for you two,” Abby says. “Dr. Blake—Bellamy, I suppose I should call you, since you’re apparently dating my daughter—I look forward to getting to know you better while you’re here.”

 

Bellamy reads the challenge there. He’s not surprised, and he knows he can rise to it. Thanks to the place he went to grad school and the nature of academia, he’s been dealing with people like Abby Griffin for years, people who question his presence in their world. They never outright say “Why are you here?,” they’re just always very curious about how a guy with his background managed to become a respected scholar.

 

So he’s prepared for this. He won’t hide who he is, even though there’s now going to be another level of questioning—how did a guy like him end up with a woman like Clarke? He asks himself the same thing from time to time, but at the end of the day, she’s with him. He’s not afraid to prove that to anyone.

 

 

**

 

 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry about her,” Clarke says later as she pulls Bellamy through the door to her—their—room.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says.

 

Clarke drops her bag and then groans, falling into the bed. “I love my mom, I do. She just drives me crazy. Am I a bad daughter for not updating her on my love life on a regular basis? Because I feel like I’m a bad daughter.”

 

Bellamy shakes his head as he sets his own luggage down and then looks at her. “You’re not a bad daughter, Clarke.”

 

“It wasn’t always like this with us,” Clarke says as she sits up to start taking off her clothes for bed.

 

“Well, I’m glad to hear that because you guys are… intense,” Bellamy says as he undoes his belt buckle.

 

“My mom is an intense person, she always has been,” Clarke says. Bellamy is looking at her, holding back a smile, and she lets out a huff as she reads what he’s thinking. “And yes, I know that I’m an intense person too. But when my dad was alive she was more, I don’t know, relaxed? We lived in a different house when I was younger, a smaller one, and it was so much more normal than this place.”

 

She watches Bellamy look around her room, his eyes taking in the large canopy bed and the window seat, the shelves still lined with all of her childhood books. She notices the photos her mother has chosen to hang in here, an array of the many pictures Clarke had been made to pose for over the years. His mouth twitches when he gets to one of her with a pony and he looks at her, his eyebrows raised.

 

“That pony’s name was Tinkerbell,” she says.

 

“Of course it was,” he replies with a chuckle. “Wait, so you didn’t always live here?”

 

“Not until I was ten. We moved in here after my grandmother died and left the house to my mom, and then a few years after that my dad was gone and she just kind of… hardened. I’m not sure how else to put it. And I’ve had my own shit going on, I know I’m not the easiest person to get along with. So I’m sorry you have to suffer through our dysfunctional relationship. We know we need therapy.”

 

Bellamy shucks off his pants and crawls into bed, reaching for her where’s she’s still sitting on top of the covers in a t-shirt and underwear. “Families are hard,” he says as he pulls her under with him until she’s nestled close to his body. “And it’s not suffering for me to be here. She’s your mom, I have to get to know her eventually. I can handle what she throws at me. You forget that I’m pretty well-trained in sparring with stubborn women.”

 

His voice is teasing and she elbows him in the stomach lightly. “She is stubborn, that’s for sure. My dad always said I got my stubbornness from her.”

 

“Like I said, well-trained,” he says as he slips his hand under her t-shirt.

 

She feels her skin tingle under his touch and she puts her hand over his through the fabric. “Thanks for being here with me,” she says as she moves her body against his. She loves the feel of him around her, the way he can both spark a fire in her and make her feel safe.

 

“Thanks for asking me,” he says into her hair. “I want to support you, Clarke,” he continues, echoing her words from the kitchen earlier. “Always.”

 

“Even when I make you come to the front lines of east coast elitism? I know you hate this stuff,” she says.

 

He lets out a breath. “I can handle it. I didn’t survive Penn on academics alone, you know.”

 

Clarke finds herself wiggling so she can lie on her back and see him better. “I know, but… god, Bellamy, we used to fight about this kind of thing _all the time_. Remember our first summer together at L’Arche? I didn’t know it was possible to use the word ‘Yale’ as a curse word, but you managed to do it, repeatedly, among other more colourful language in reference to my background.”

 

His brow furrows. They talk about this, about their stormy past, because they have to—it’s a reality of their relationship, that it was born in fighting—but it’s never easy when they do. She’d known coming here would bring this up, and she supposes now is as good a time as any to face it.

 

“I didn’t know you then, Clarke,” he says eventually, his hand having slid out of her shirt to rest on top of the fabric, lightly tracing over her stomach. “And I was scared of you, because to me at that point in my career, you represented a world I thought would never let me in. I thought you’d had everything handed to you that I’d had to work my ass off to get, and you seemed hell-bent on keeping me out of L’Arche. And I needed L’Arche, for job security, and I _wanted_ L’Arche, for my own selfish intellectual reasons. I’m not proud of it now, but I really thought, for a while, that the whole system of privilege was trying to reject me from it.”

 

Her stomach churns with sorrow for him, for the way he’d been made to feel throughout his career. She hates that she ever played a role in it, but she understands why he’d assumed what he did.

 

“I was scared of you, too,” Clarke says, lacing her fingers with his. “I was so used to that place being mine, and I’d never met anyone like you before. Ever. You came in with this raw passion for the work that I’d never seen, and that combined with the chip on your shoulder made you this big, grouchy _thing_ I had to deal with on a regular basis that I had no clue how to handle.”

 

“A ‘big, grouchy thing?’” he repeats with a smile. “I used to call you the ‘short blonde tempest’ in my head.”

 

She can’t help smiling back as she snuggles slightly into him. “You did not.”

 

“I did too,” he says, squeezing her closer. “And I had no clue how to handle you, either, so I went with my default mode of resenting the fact that you came from a privileged background and I didn’t, because that was easier than facing you as an actual person.”

 

“But eventually we did have to face each other,” she says. “It’s just… bringing you here, I feel like I’m forcing you to be in that world that you resented so much when we first knew each other. ”

 

His fingers find her chin and tilt her head so their eyes can meet. “Once I actually got to know you, Clarke, I knew that you had worked your ass off for what you had, too, and that it hadn’t been easy. That was probably the scariest part of all—realizing that we were more similar than different, and that we’d been being awful to each other out of misplaced spite. Well, that and the realization that I wanted you, badly. That was fucking terrifying.”

 

The tone of voice sends a shiver down her spine and she snakes her hand around his waist to pull herself closer.

 

“Trust me, I can relate,” she says. And she can. She’d been so adept at compartmentalizing her physical needs from her emotional ones that when she’d finally admitted to herself that she was in love with him, she realized that the origins of her feelings for him went further back than their physical relationship. She’d never been cognizant of it, but hindsight was teaching her a lot about herself. Hindsight, and the ability to talk to Bellamy like this.

 

He leans down to kiss her. “It is pretty weird, being here and actually seeing the world you grew up in,” he says after he pulls away. “But I don’t mind it, Clarke. I like getting to know you better. And I want to be here, with you. For you.”

 

She relaxes into him. “Thank you. And soon we can go back out west, where nobody cares about this kind of shit. At least not to the degree that they do here.”

 

“I don’t know, it sounds like your mother would love it if you decided to move back into the family estate,” he teases.

 

She thumps her hand against his chest. “Ugh. We are selling this place for sure, when that day comes.”

 

He pauses. “We are?”

 

Her heart beats heavily as she lets the use of the pronoun sink in after she’s said it. She speaks of them collectively, and long into the future tense, without even thinking about it. It’s scary and wonderful all at once, but she’s paranoid for a moment that she’s voiced too much.

 

“I mean, that’s a long way away, hopefully, and I don’t want to just assume that—but—“

 

“Hey,” he says, stopping her. “We’ll figure it out when the time comes.” And then a lazy grin sprawls across his face. “I like when you talk about us in the future tense like that.”

 

“You do?” she asks. “It’s not totally insane and presumptive?”

 

He chuckles and his hand slides around her to her backside so he can pull her flush against him. “No,” he says. “It’s not. I meant it when I said you were it for me. It’s… I think about us in the future tense, a lot.”

 

“You do?” she asks, even as her entire body flushes warmly with the reminder that they are on the same page. She’s still getting used to it, and every affirmation of it is like a new wave of happiness.

 

“I do,” he says, kissing his way down to her neck. Apparently talking in future tense is a turn on for him, based on what she can feel through his underwear. His hand goes for the waistband of her panties. “Although right now the furthest ahead I can really think is however long it’ll take to get you out of these.”

 

She laughs and pulls him in for a kiss. “I love you,” she says, and she feels the thrill she gets every time she says it, the knowledge that she can say it safely. It took her a long time to let herself love again, but now that she has, she can’t imagine it being any other way.

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

Bellamy wakes up early the next morning, and Clarke is still sleeping soundly next to him. He knows he won’t be able to get back to sleep, so he gives her a soft kiss before dressing quietly and heading downstairs in search of coffee. He takes his time wandering through the house as he goes, interested now to see the place in the light of day. Everything is spotless, tastefully decorated in a subtle way that he’s sure was expensive to achieve.

 

It’s a very grown-up house. He tries to imagine Clarke as a girl here, running through the halls, and he can’t. He can’t imagine any child running through these halls. He’s sure Clarke did run, though, and he’s sure she got reprimanded for it. The thought makes him smile, of her refusing to play by anyone else’s rules. And it also makes him think of her words last night about them selling the place when it ended up in Clarke’s hands. Clarke talking about their future makes his heart skip all over the place.

 

When he walks into the kitchen, his heart abruptly calms itself down as he finds Abby pouring herself a cup of coffee. She’s wearing a pair of plaid capris and a sleeveless polo shirt and he thinks the outfit is slightly ridiculous until he realizes she’s dressed to play golf. _Of course_ she’s a golfer.

 

“Good morning,” she says with a polite smile.

 

“Good morning,” he replies.

 

“You’re up early, given the time difference,” she comments.

 

He shrugs. “I’m an early riser no matter where I am.”

 

“I’m just about to have breakfast before my tee time,” she says.” You’re welcome to join me if you wish.”

 

“Thank you,” he replies. “I think I will.” Like he has any choice. Abby wants to get to know him? Might as well start the process now.

 

“Please, help yourself to some coffee,” she says graciously. “I’ll be out in the solarium.”

 

Bellamy gets his coffee and manages to find the solarium just as an older woman—Marcella, he guesses—is serving breakfast. Abby motions for him to sit and help himself to the food.

 

"So. Bellamy. Tell me about yourself," Abby says as she cuts into her egg white frittata.

 

Bellamy is fairly certain the first thing Abby did after she went to bed last night was Google the shit out of him, so he has to think about where to start. He decides to go with the part he knows she won't like. 

 

"Well, I was born and raised in South Philadelphia," he replies.

 

Abby nods. "And your parents? What do they do?"

 

Bellamy knows that people like Abby care about pedigrees—wealthy east coasters have a particularly strong obsession with the "what do your parents do?" question. But he's not ashamed of his background, he never has been, and he refuses to shy away from talking about it.

 

"My father was never in the picture. The only thing I know about him is that he was Filipino. My mother worked as a caretaker at a nursing home until she passed away when I was in college and my sister was still a kid."

 

He's not surprised by the look on Abby's face as she processes this information, does the math. "Your sister is Clarke's grad student," she says eventually.

 

"She is," he replies. 

 

"And you were her guardian after your mother passed away?"

 

"I was."

 

"And you managed to raise your sister _and_ get your Ph.D.? That's remarkable."

 

Ah yes, Bellamy thinks. Rich people love a good _pulled oneself up by one's bootstraps_ story. Bellamy hates when people do this, because they don't acknowledge the systems that are in place that prevent the majority of working class people from ever getting ahead. He worked his ass off to get where he is, but he also knows he got lucky and he makes sure other people know that too.

 

"Night classes are remarkable," he says. “I worked as many jobs as I could until I was fortunate enough to get into grad school with a decent funding package. And I was incredibly lucky to find an academic mentor who made a lot of things happen for me."

 

"Well, you ended up at Penn, so it seems like everything worked out," Abby says. So she had Googled him, and found the tidbit she liked.

 

"Like I said, I was very fortunate," he replies. "And honestly it wasn't about the fact that it was Penn, for me. I was lucky to find the right supervisor, and I needed a school where I didn't have to move away to attend. I didn't want to uproot Octavia."

 

“Penn is an excellent school. I say that even as a Yale graduate,” Abby says with a slight smile on her face. Ivy League rivalry banter is another thing Bellamy has never been into. Abby chooses to ignore his lack of engagement with that and keeps talking. “I encouraged Clarke to apply to graduate schools closer to home,” Abby says, “once she made it clear she wasn’t going to medical school. I think Harvard or Penn or even Cornell would have been great choices. Naturally, she chose to move across the continent and attend a school in a different country altogether.”

 

Bellamy’s not sure what to say to that at first, but his mind flies back to a conversation he had with Clarke in the summer. “You wanted her to be a medical doctor,” he says before he can stop himself.

 

Abby looks at him, her eyes focused. “Is that what she told you?”

 

“It’s what I inferred,” he responds.

 

Abby seems to square her shoulders. “I did want that for her. It’s a tradition, in our family, going back to my grandfather. She had all of the natural abilities, the grades, the test scores. But she chose differently.”

 

“She chose her passion,” Bellamy says, because he can see now how difficult it would have been for Clarke, to deal with her mother’s expectations. He feels the need to defend her. “She’s the best in the world at what she does. You know that, right?” he asks.

 

Abby’s spine straightens. “I don’t need you to tell me about my own daughter,” she responds, her voice cold.

 

They simply stare at each other for a moment, and Bellamy’s not sure which direction this will go. Abby seems keen on skewering him with her eyes, but he finds he’s not intimidated by her.

 

“I think that you do,” he continues.

 

Abby sets her cutlery down and he doesn’t miss the way her fingers caress the knife. “You’ve been dating her for what—a few months, maybe? And you presume to know her better than her own mother? I don’t know how you managed to get behind my daughter’s defenses, but you really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

“All I’m trying to do,” Bellamy says, his voice low and cold, “is make it clear that while she may not have done things the way you wanted her to do them, she is brilliant and incredibly accomplished at what she does, and she loves doing it. Because as much as she tries to pretend otherwise, I think a bit of positive acknowledgement from her own mother would mean a lot to her. And she means a lot to me.”

 

Well, this escalated quickly. He’s pretty sure Clarke would kill him if she knew he was having this conversation with her mother, but he also feels strongly about it. He loves her more than anything, and he wants everyone in her world to understand how amazing she is. And while he knows her relationship with Abby is complicated, he can’t help wanting to push them towards a better understanding.

 

He wonders if he’s pushed Abby too far as she continues to stare him down, but then all of a sudden he is watching as she composes herself once again into the perfectly poised woman of power and privilege that she is. She breaks eye contact only to look at her watch and then stands up.

 

“I have to leave to make my tee time,” she says, looking down at him. “Please let Clarke know that I’m golfing with Marcus this morning and that we’re leaving for the reception at three.”

 

She keeps her steely glare on him for as long as possible as she walks out of the room, and then she’s gone, leaving Bellamy to finish his breakfast alone. He lets out a breath, unclear on who really got the last word.

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

Clarke looks at herself in the mirror of the vanity table in her bedroom and gives out a “hmmmph.” She has just pulled on and zipped up a sky blue sheath dress that is perfectly conservative Connecticut, and now she’s frowning at herself as she works to fasten the clasp of the pearl necklace she inherited from her father’s mother.

 

“What’s wrong?” Bellamy asks. He’s just emerged from the shower and has a towel slung low on his hips, and the sight of him makes her blood warm.

 

“Nothing,” she says. “I just look like Country Club Barbie.”

 

He chuckles and walks over to her. “You look beautiful,” he says.

 

She meets his gaze in the mirror and looks at him skeptically as he puts his hands over hers to take over the task of fastening the necklace.

 

“You weren’t kidding about the pearls,” he says as he lets his hands rest on her shoulders after he’s done with the clasp.

 

“There’s a reason I don’t dress like this on a regular basis,” she says. “But I find it’s easier to dress like the enemy in these kinds of situations, it gives me more of a chance for subversion if they all think I’m just one of them.”

 

“Are you plotting a coup?” he asks with a smile.

 

“No, but I should,” she says. “Can you imagine if I got up there and told them what I really think about all of this?”

 

“How are you feeling about the speech anyway?” he asks.

 

She turns around so she can face him, mostly because she wants to touch him. He’s all delicious muscle on display and she is beginning to seriously question why she’s wearing clothing right now.

 

“I feel okay about it,” she says as her fingers tease against his side, pulling him slightly closer. “I’m keeping it fairly short. I’m not the main speaker or anything, just a side attraction to the main show, which is Thelonius.”

 

“Ah yes, the legendary philanthropist himself,” Bellamy says.

 

“He does love to be the center of attention,” Clarke says. “Although he’ll have to jostle with Senator Kane for some of it.”

 

“Senator Kane as in Senator _Marcus_ Kane? Wait, is that who your mom was golfing with this morning?” he asks.

 

“Yes, he’s her _secret lovah_ ,” Clarke says with a teasing accent.

 

Bellamy laughs and raises his eyebrows. “Wow. Your mom’s secret lover is a New York senator? Does your mom have any friends who aren’t scary powerful?”

 

“A few,” Clarke replies. “But they’re mostly her underlings so I’m not sure they count as friends.”

 

“Well,” he says, “I’m not sure I made the best impression at breakfast, so I’m guessing I’ll soon be able to count a senator amongst my haters, too?”

 

Clarke slides her other hand around his torso and rests both sets of fingers on the towel at his hips, allowing her thumbs to play against those delicious muscles that dipped downwards. Bellamy had told her about his conversation with her mother over breakfast, and she’s not surprised that it hadn’t been easy.

 

“My mom is going to dislike you no matter what for a while,” she says, meeting his eyes. “It’s been over a decade since she’s had any control over my life, but she still tries to mark her boundaries from time to time. But she’s alone in her quest. Marcus and Thelonius have always been supportive of me, much to my mother’s chagrin. I have a sneaking suspicion they’re going to like you, and it’s going to drive her crazy, and I’m going to _love it_.”

 

She smiles wickedly at him as her fingers begin to delve beneath the towel.

 

“Oh really?” he asks, his own mouth curving into a sexy grin.

 

“Really,” she says. “And I am extremely distracted by the fact that you’re only wearing a towel right now.”

 

“I won’t be wearing one for much longer if you keep doing that with your fingers,” he says, and his voice has taken on a husky tone. She grazes one hand downwards and finds him hardening, her touch causing his hips to cant forward until she’s back against the vanity. She feels herself getting wet.

 

“You know,” she says as she slides her hand back up to begin loosening the towel, “as my very supportive boyfriend, how would you feel about helping me relieve a little stress before we leave?”

 

The towel falls to the floor and she takes his hard length in her hands. His head falls back slightly and then he’s looking at her again, lust in his eyes. “I feel like I could help you with that.” He leans down then to capture her mouth and kiss her, their tongues tangling until he kisses his way towards her jaw whispers in her ear, “It’s a shame you’re already dressed, though. Although I have to admit this look is kind of scary hot on you.”

 

She pulls back slightly to give him a sly grin before she reaches down for the hem of her dress and wiggles her hips just so until the skirt climbs up to her waist, his eyes widening as he watches her. She winks at him before turning around and leaning over the vanity table, propping herself up on her elbows. “Not an issue,” she says.

 

He groans and she feels his hands on her hips, pulling her ass back against him until she can feel his cock twitch against her and she loves this, she loves _him_. He runs his hands over her ass and her thighs and tugs her underwear until it falls down to her ankles, and then his fingers are reaching between her legs to find her slick and ready for him.

 

“Jesus,” he says, leaning over her back to press his mouth to her neck. “You love getting fucked over furniture, don’t you,” he says, and the rumble in his voice seems to shoot straight to her clit.

 

“I do love it,” she says, bucking her hips back against him as she spreads her legs enough to give him access. “And I love your cock. And if the furniture happens to be well-positioned for fucking, then so be it.”

 

He nearly growls at her words and their eyes meet in the mirror as he thrusts into her from behind. She can see the way her breasts bounce forward against the neckline of her dress, the way her lips part and her eyes flutter, and the way his eyes slide shut momentarily, a look of pure bliss on his face. She can’t help the sigh that escapes her mouth as she takes it all in.

 

He begins to move behind her, and she loves the feel of him inside her at this angle. She has a bit of thing back at L’Arche about having sex on the desk in his cabin, and against the bench in the lab, because he’s not kidding, she does love being bent over—or fucked up against—things by him, but the vanity table has the added bonus of an attached mirror in which they can actually see what they’re doing, and Clarke finds it incredibly erotic.

 

“I love watching you fuck me like this,” she says as she moves back against him, releasing a breathy moan with each thrust.

 

“I love watching your face, I never get to see it like this,” he says, his hands sliding upwards to grip her breasts through her dress and hold onto them for leverage. Her skin swells against the touch, but the layers of fabric between them cause her to keen for more. She wriggles her arm until she can reach her hand down to play with her clit, and _yes_ , that’s the best feeling, him moving in and out of her and just the right amount of extra pressure to take it to the next level.

 

She feels the sensations coursing through her body as they continue to move together, their sentences petering out in to breathed phrases, and he anchors his hands to her hips and pumps his cock harder. The table moves with their motions, and the mirror does too, but neither of them cares. They never care about anything other than each other when they’re like this. Their eyes meet again and this time they’re blazing.

 

“Oh my god,” she breathes, her chest heaving as she gets pounded from behind. “You are so—fucking—good at this—“ she cries out as she feels herself nearing the edge.

 

“I aim—to please—” he says as he thrusts, and he manages to get even deeper inside of her and she’s not sure how much more she can take.

 

The feel of his cock as it moves against her fingers where she’s rubbing her clit is too much to handle, all of a sudden, and Clarke cries out as she feels her muscles contract around him, the release wracking her body in waves. He holds her so that he stays deep inside of her as she comes, which he know she loves, and then he retreats only to thrust once, twice more before he comes too, and they both fall forward, spent.

 

Clarke eventually peels her head up off the vanity and smiles lazily into the mirror at Bellamy, meeting his eyes again as he raises his head from where he’d been hanging it low, post-orgasm. They’re both still catching their breath, but he matches her smile and then they’re both laughing.

 

“I feel much more prepared for this event now,” Clarke says, biting her lip.

 

“Good,” Bellamy says, slapping her ass lightly as he pulls out, and then he reaches to grab a box of tissues for her.

 

“Thank you,” she says as she takes it. “God, can you imagine if I showed up to this thing with semen on my dress?”

 

Bellamy nearly chokes on his laugh. “That would be one way to scandalize them,” he says, leaning in for a kiss before he goes to get dressed.

 

“Unfortunately I think that, as two dorky professors in a monogamous relationship, we’re going to be pretty unscandalous compared to some of the affairs going on in this crowd,” Clarke says as she pulls her outfit back into place.

 

“Hey, who are you calling dorky?” he asks from where he’s getting dressed. His dress pants fit his thighs and backside so well it’s hard for Clarke to look away as he zips them up.

 

“Um, the guy who spent the day working on a paper in the library?” she says.

 

“That’s a heavy charge coming from someone who spent all day doing the same thing because we’re writing the paper _together_ ,” he replies.

 

She grins. “Like I said, we’re both dorks. I guess what I mean is that as much I like to pretend I’m some kind of rebel for not going into medicine, I’ve managed to find a pretty equally overachieving life trajectory.” She falls serious then, because she knows she needs to acknowledge some things while she’s here, deal with her grief on this day. “I’ve always kind of rejected this world, but after losing Wells, I really pushed against it. I haven’t been to a thing like this in years, and I’m pretty sure the most surprising thing is going to be how little things have changed.”

 

“How are you feeling today, anyway?” he asks. “I mean, I know I asked you that already, but…”

 

She smiles as her heart swells, because he’s been so caring with her, so aware of her feelings and the potential for things to go sideways. She’s actually felt more stable than she expected to, and she suspects a large part of that has to do with his presence.

 

“I feel fine,” she says. “It’s hard, of course, because the anniversary brings up the memories of what happened, but I don’t know, it’s just… I never thought I would get over it, and I think there will always be a part of me that can’t ever get over it. But every year I’m more and more capable of living with it. If that makes any sense.”

 

“It does,” he says, turning towards her.

 

Clarke’s heart flutters as she takes in Bellamy now that he’s fully dressed. He’s wearing a jacket and tie, which he had complained mightily about leading up to the trip, but now that she’s actually seeing him in it for the first time she has to admit he pulls off the look _very_ well.

 

“Think the vultures will be satisfied?” he says as he walks over to her.

 

“I think you’ll be lucky to make it out of there without at least one tipsy society divorcee saying something inappropriate to you,” she replies, reaching up to straighten his tie. It doesn’t really need straightening, she just wants to do it.

 

“This thing has an open bar, right?” he asks.

 

Clarke scoffs. “Please. Like any of these people could stand each other sober. Bellamy, you look really good.”

 

He smiles and turns her so they can see themselves together in the mirror (fully clothed this time).

 

“We look great, together. But if you’re Country Club Barbie, does that mean I’m Country Club Ken?”

 

Clarke laughs and shakes her head. “You’re way too good to be Country Club Ken. You’re more like the version of Ken that is an archaeologist and too handsome for his own good, who comes and rescues Country Club Barbie from her personal hell.”

 

“I can live with that,” he says, and they make their way downstairs.

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

While Abby had treated Bellamy with surface kindness on the way over, he could see the spark in her eyes from their earlier conversation, and he’s more than happy to meet her with his own. She is wearing a dress that is both professional and fancy at the same time, and he knows they are heading towards a place where everyone will have to be on their best behaviour. He’s coming to realize that he’s going to be facing off with Abby for a while.

 

Senator Marcus Kane is waiting for them when they arrive, his hair slicked back, and Bellamy recognizes him easily from his frequent appearances in the news. He is another person who has known Clarke from childhood, and Bellamy is curious to see how these people treat her. It doesn’t take long for him to realize that they love her.

 

Kane pulls Clarke in for an embrace, kissing her on the cheek and saying, “It’s lovely to see you again so soon, Clarke.”

 

“It’s good to see you too,” she says as she pulls away. “Marcus, this is my boyfriend, Dr. Bellamy Blake.”

 

Bellamy reaches for the senator’s hand and gives it a strong shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Senator.”

 

“It’s nice to meet you too, Dr. Blake. And please, call me Marcus. I have to tell you both, I’ve been following your latest findings at L’Arche, and I can’t wait to hear more about how your field season went,” Kane says.

 

Bellamy looks at Clarke, who smiles proudly at Kane before explaining to Bellamy, “Marcus is something of an armchair anthropologist.” She turns back to Kane. “It went very well, in spite of a bit of a set-back due to some geomorphological events. We’re writing a paper about some of this summer’s findings right now, actually.”

 

“Well, I hope you’ll let me know once it’s published,” Kane says. “I swear, one of these summers I’ll manage to convince your mother we should go on a trip to France and stop by to see the place.”

 

Clarke’s eyebrows rise and Bellamy has to hold back a smile at her attempt to hide her horror at the idea of her mother at L’Arche. Kane seems to find it mildly entertaining as well, and Bellamy can’t help but wonder how much the senator knows about Abby and Clarke’s relationship. Probably a lot.

 

The next person they meet is Thelonius Jaha, who is standing inside the entrance to the building, greeting guests. The reception is being held inside the Wells Jaha building itself, in the open entry hall which has sweeping staircases leading up to the higher floors and a portrait of Wells with a plaque beneath it hanging in prominent display. The hall has been set up with tables so people can stand and eat the appetizers being circulated by catering staff and sip cocktails from the bar.

 

Thelonius pulls Clarke in for a hug too. “Thank you for being here, Clarke,” he says.

 

“I’m happy to be here, for Wells,” she says, and then she turns to Bellamy. “Thelonius Jaha, this is Dr. Bellamy Blake, my boyfriend. I asked him to be here with me today.”

 

Thelonius looks surprised for a moment, but he reaches out and grasps Bellamy’s hand firmly. “It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Blake,” he says. “I’m glad you could be here with Clarke.”

 

“It’s my pleasure,” he says. “And please, call me Bellamy.”

 

“Of course, Bellamy Blake,” he says, realization dawning. “You’re the Dr. Blake who works at L’Arche with Clarke?”

 

“That’s me,” Bellamy replies.

 

Thelonius looks between them. “A true scholarly pair.”

 

Clarke smiles shyly, and Bellamy wonders if this is strange for her, talking about her new boyfriend with her old boyfriend’s father. Plenty of time has passed, of course, but still, it has the potential for strangeness.

 

Thelonius is the picture of a gracious host, however, and if Bellamy is not mistaken, he actually seems happy for Clarke. He’s known her since she was baby, and it’s clear he cares for her, almost like a daughter.

 

“Well, I’m happy that you’re all here, so we can officially open Wells Jaha Hall,” Thelonius says, gesturing around him.

 

“It looks incredible, Thelonius,” Abby says.

 

“She says that as if she hasn’t been walking through every day since construction began,” Thelonius says to Clarke and Bellamy with a smile. Abby makes a face that somehow manages to combine seriousness and eye-rolling all into one. He can easily imagine her in here every day, haranguing the workers.

 

“It really is beautiful,” Clarke says. “And that portrait is… it’s stunning. It really captures him.”

 

“I’m happy you think so,” Thelonius says. “You knew him so well.”

 

“When would you like me to speak?” she asks. Bellamy can detect a slight nervousness in her voice, which she’s been hiding quite effectively up until now.

 

“We’re going to have everyone mingle for a little while longer,” Thelonius explains, “And then we’ll get things started. Abby is going to speak first briefly to welcome everyone, and then I’ll say a few words before introducing you. I’ll speak after you as well.” He gestures to a podium set up near the portrait, which seems to be where the speaking will occur. “In the meantime, though, please, have a drink, have some food. Clarke, I’m sure there are plenty of people here who will be thrilled to see you.”

 

Clarke puts on her best public smile with a smoothness that belies her upbringing. She looks at her mother, who is already beginning to make the rounds, and then at Bellamy. “Shall we?” she asks.

 

He holds out his arm so she can take it, and they walk into the room. It turns out that there are a lot of people who are thrilled to see Clarke, or rather, they are very curious about Clarke and where she’s been for the past several years. The amount of people they encounter on their way to the bar alone is astounding. People pause their conversations to stop Clarke and say hello, to ask her how she’s doing, what she’s been doing. Her grip on Bellamy’s arm tightens during each encounter, but that’s the only indication that she’s anything other than completely calm and collected. He shakes hand after hand, and people are certainly curious about him, too.

 

Clarke was right, though. While people do find their jobs to be exciting, they really are just two dorky professors, as she put it. People look between the two of them and smile, and some of the older society matrons do indeed give Bellamy they eye. One of them pulls Clarke close to her and whispers loud enough so he can hear, “Your boyfriend is _very_ handsome.”

 

Bellamy has perfected his small talk over the years out of necessity. He had not enjoyed playing nice when he was younger, feeling a fair amount of anger towards the world. But as he progressed with his studies he had learned that, in the world of scholarship, people skills were a must (as terrible as most academics were at them), and that once he stopped scowling, people actually reacted quite positively to him. He discovered the art of public interaction, of speaking and being charming, and learned that he could hold his own in any situation.

 

So he is able to handle all of these people, in their fancy clothes and their watches that cost more than his car, and Clarke handles them as well, but he’s happy they’re doing it together instead of stranded in this sea alone. Fortunately there isn’t too much time to kill, because the scheduling of the event has been handled to perfection by Abby and her assistant, Jackson, who comes to find Clarke and let her know the time for her speech is coming up.

 

Soon they’re watching Abby stand before the crowd, a gracious smile on her face as she welcomes everyone and says a few words about the renovation and the Jaha Foundation. Then Thelonius is speaking, his energy pervading the room. He introduces Clarke as Wells’ “lifelong friend” and she squeezes Bellamy’s hand before making her way to the podium, the picture of grace in her sleek blue dress (he has to suppress thoughts of his view of that dress from earlier). She thanks Thelonius, catches Bellamy’s eye with a small smile, and then begins her speech. 

 

“I knew Wells Jaha from the day he was born,” she says, and the room falls completely quiet. Clarke has a way of speaking in front of people that he’s observed in her as a teacher, but this is something new, and he is already impressed. “I was born a few months before him, and our parents were close, so we were companions from a very young age. We were each other’s best friend growing up, two only children who found ways to get into trouble together. Not that two science nerds could really get into much trouble outside of some wayward chemistry set experiments.”

 

This earns a chuckle from the crowd, and Bellamy marvels at her ability to control the room as she continues.

 

“I had to share Wells with everyone else, because everybody loved him. He was a friend to all, from the shyest kids to the most outgoing kids. He treated everyone equally. He was kind, and he was fair, and in a time when most of us are jaded, he believed in a better world.

 

“He was like this as a child, and he stayed this way as he became an adult. He joined the Peace Corps after graduating from Yale and stayed in Uganda to volunteer at a medical clinic before returning to attend medical school. His dream was to continue his work with Doctors Without Borders after finishing his training.

 

“Wells thrived when he was caring for others. It was like his capacity for caring was ingrained in very the fibre of his being. He loved his family, and he loved his friends. He took care of all of us. Even in the face of the worst humanity can throw at the world, he cared. Being loved by Wells was the greatest blessing, for anyone who experienced it.”

 

She catches Thelonius’ eye, and Thelonius nods at her, his eyes shining, before she continues.

 

“Wells Jaha was an uncommonly good man. He was taken from this earth five years ago today, and I’ve placed a lot of blame over the years, felt a lot of anger towards his loss, towards the person who took him from us. I don’t shy away from the reality of what happened. But I have also come to understand that there is no sense to these things, no set of universal rules that determines what’s fair and what isn’t fair, or who gets to live a long life and who doesn’t.

 

“There is no way to make sense of it, but we do have _our_ lives to try and make good things happen going forward. This building, being named after Wells, is a good thing. People will walk these halls to learn about medicine, which was his passion. They will speak his name when they talk about where they’re going. Some of them will stop here to read about him on this plaque, and I ask those of you who work here to stop from time to time and say hello, and to remember the spirit of his love for others.

 

Clarke swallows, and Bellamy can tell that her mind is spinning.

 

“But more than simply remembering his name, we should work to make the world a better place, in his honor. It sounds cliché, but it really is the least we can do, to honor the memory of a man who truly believed that we _could_ be better. Wells Jaha’s memory lives on in all of us, and if we can try to have even a fraction of the goodness he had in his heart, and hold onto that goodness in our own hearts, then perhaps in some small way we can carry out his legacy. Thank you.”

 

There’s not a dry eye in the house. Bellamy sees people dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs as they applaud Clarke. She heads straight for him as she leaves the podium, her controlled smile still firmly fixed on her face. He expects her to stop and stand next to him to listen to the rest of what Thelonius has to say, but she grabs his hand and heads for a side door.

 

They end up in a small courtyard off to the side of the building and as soon as they are around the corner she turns to look at him, her eyes filled with tears. His heart slams into his ribs at the sight, and he wants nothing more than to comfort her.

 

“Hey,” he says gently. “Are you okay?”

 

She shakes her head as her bottom lip trembles and then she chokes on a sob as the tears spill over. He pulls her to him instantly, cradling her head against his chest as he wraps his other arm around her lower back. He can feel her breath going in and out of her body as she cries, and he whispers soothingly into her hair.

 

She just needs to cry for a little while, it seems, and he doesn’t blame her, not after the speech she’s just delivered. His heart breaks for her all over again, the same way it had when she’d first told him about Wells earlier this summer. He knows how hard it is for her to face this, and especially for her to talk about it, let alone in public. She’d held it together long enough to get through the speech, but Bellamy had been wondering if it would ever get to be too much.

 

He guides her over to a bench under a tree and sits down, pulling her with him so she can continue to lean against him. Eventually her breathing evens out and she pulls back slightly so she can look at him.

 

“I’m a mess,” she says, wiping at her tears. “I thought I could handle this, but…”

 

“Hey,” he says, his fingers sliding a stray strand of hair behind her year. “You are handling it. That speech was incredible, Clarke.”

 

She shakes her head. “It’s just, having to talk about him in front of everyone… I’m just still so fucking mad! That he’s gone!”

 

“It’s okay to be mad, Clarke,” he says. “Believe me. It’s okay.”

 

She clenches her jaw and then takes a deep breath, relaxing her body slightly as she lets it go. “It’s just so unfair that he’s gone. I know I just gave a goddamn speech about moving on from this and earlier I was all talk about how it’s getting better but fuck, Bellamy. Sometimes I think I’ll never be able to let go of being angry.”

 

He pulls her into him again, running his hands up and down her back.

 

“Life is just so weird, and senseless,” she says against his chest. “And scary. I loved him so much as a friend and I was learning how to love him as more when—when he was in the wrong place at the wrong time and that idiot drunk girl hit him, and it was all just fucking timing, right? How the fuck do you prepare for that?”

 

“You don’t,” Bellamy whispers. “You can’t.”

 

“I know it’s not possible,” she continues, her fingers moving against his chest. “But I wish I could just… be ready. That was why I shut everyone out for so long. Because it’s easier to not be close to people if you’re just going to lose everyone eventually anyway.”

 

He presses a kiss into her hair. He knows that this is at the root of so many of Clarke’s fears, and it hurts him to hear her sadness. He wants to make this feeling go away for her, but he also knows that’s not really possible.

 

“I’m still so scared,” she says. “I know it’s stupid, but reliving this—it makes me scared of what it would be like to lose you, too.”

 

His heart stops. “Clarke,” he says, pulling her closer, tears welling in his own eyes now. “We can’t live our lives in fear of that.”

 

“I know we can’t,” she says. “But sometimes my old fears get me. And on today of all days, of course my mind is going there.”

 

He pulls back slightly so he can see her eyes, and his thumbs go to wipe the wetness off her cheeks.

 

“I can’t promise I won’t die someday. And neither can you,” he says. “You and I, we study human history, we know it all ends in the same place. But you said it so beautifully inside, Clarke. There is no sense to it, but we can move forward, do our best to hold that goodness inside of us.”

 

“Did people hate the speech? It’s a miracle I didn’t use the word ‘murder’ while I was up there. That took a lot of restraint, actually,” she says.

 

Bellamy can’t hold back a chuckle that surprises him as it comes out, and he sees a light flicker in her eyes, too, giving him hope that the wave of sadness has crested and they’re heading for shore. “People loved the speech,” he assures her. “Seriously, Clarke, it was amazing. Wells was an amazing person, clearly, and you reminded everyone of why they’re here, why they’re honouring him.”

 

“And then I walked out of the room like an asshole,” she says.

 

“You moved everyone to tears,” he says. “I’m sure they understand that you needed a moment.”

 

She takes a deep breath once again and lets it go. “Bellamy, thank you for just, for being here. No matter where my mind goes. Because it goes to some dark places.”

 

He reaches for her hand. “I’ve got you,” he says. “You were brilliant in there. I know you don’t like this place, but these people love you. I’m sorry this is hard.”

 

She leans forward and hugs him. “It’s way less hard with you here,” she whispers, and then she pulls back, looking at the building. “We should probably go back inside.”

 

“Are you sure?” he asks, concerned.

 

“Yeah. I just needed to get that out before I could face everyone. In case you haven’t noticed, people are very repressed here when it comes to public displays of actual emotions.”

 

“Well, if you’re ready, then let’s go for it.”

 

He marvels at her as they walk hand in hand back to Jaha Hall, at the strength and vulnerability she is somehow brave enough to show. It had taken a long time for them to get to where he could see all of these sides of her. He’s thankful that, finally, they’ve come to a place where they can start slaying demons together.

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

The remainder of the day goes smoothly, which Clarke is happy about, especially after her post-speech breakdown. She’d managed to hold it all together until she’d been onstage, talking about Wells, talking about not being angry when she was, in fact, angry, but that wasn’t really what pushed her over the edge. No, it was Wells’ smile in that portrait, and the reminder of him in his father’s mannerisms. She gets back to that place where she remembers that it’s okay to grieve, and she has Bellamy there to hold her when she needs it.

 

She actually does feel better after expressing some of her anger and fear, because she has a have a habit of pretending everything is fine, and she knows it’s not always the healthiest way to process emotions. Bellamy has a way of making her feel like she doesn’t have to pretend, and she’s still getting used to it. It’s not easy, but it turns out it does feel better, having someone to talk to about things.

 

She’s amazed, really, watching him in this world, both with her and with others. He manages to manoeuver it perfectly while still remaining himself, a strength of personality that has always come so naturally to him. She overhears him talking about South Philly with a wealthy donor from the Main Line—the compete opposite end of the social spectrum in Philadelphia—and hears the pride in his voice as he describes Octavia’s achievements in spite of the odds. She loves him fiercely in that moment for his refusal to be anything other than what he truly is, with everyone.

 

They have dinner with Theolonius and Marcus and some other important people after the reception, and Clarke manages to hold on for a while before the exhaustion of the day finally catches up with her and they head back to go to bed before their early flight the next day. Now that the reception is over, her work here is done, and it’s time to go home.

 

Abby informs them that she will be up early to take them to the airport before her golf game, and sure enough she’s there waiting, dressed neatly as always, when they come downstairs with their bags. Clarke doesn’t miss the look her mother exchanges with Bellamy—she’d noticed it the day before, too—and it actually amuses her, the degree to which they seem to be standing up to some silent, mutual challenge.

 

Her mother is a stubborn woman, and Bellamy is a stubborn man. But she knows her mother and knows that she wouldn’t be giving him that look if she didn’t respect him, which is huge. Because Abby Griffin does not give her respect freely. Clarke’s not sure exactly what had gone down with them the day before, but whatever it was, he had earned some grudging respect. Clarke thinks that it will be interesting to watch them interact as they get to know each other more and more, as time goes by.

 

 _This is my family now_ , she thinks suddenly as she watches them head for their respective car doors, and the realization continues to sink in as they make their way to the airport. These two people are the two closest people in the world to her, and now they know each other. She’d come into this trip not giving a damn what her mother might think of Bellamy, but she finds now that she’s surprisingly pleased by that grudging respect that she detects.

 

She hugs Abby on the airport curb. “Thanks for hosting us, Mom,” she says.

 

“It’s your home, Clarke, you know that. You’re always welcome,” Abby replies.

 

“You know what I mean,” Clarke replies. “Please tell Marcella thank you for everything, as well.”

 

“Of course,” Abby says, and then she puts her hands on Clarke’s upper arms. “Listen, I… overheard you talking to Marcus yesterday about an article you’re working on. If you wouldn’t mind letting me know as well when it’s published, I would like that. To see what you’ve been working on.”

 

Clarke’s mouth opens to speak, but she can’t find words at first. This is the last thing she ever thought she’d hear from her mother’s mouth.

 

“I… okay, yeah. Sure,” she says finally, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice.

 

“Thank you,” Abby says with a small smile.

 

Clarke is still baffled as Abby turns to Bellamy and sticks out her hand, her eyes narrower now than when they’d been looking at Clarke. Bellamy looks oddly pleased with himself.

 

“It was nice to meet you, Bellamy,” Abby says, cool and collected as usual.

 

“It was nice to meet you too, Dr. Griffin,” Bellamy replies. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again not too far in the future.”

 

“I suppose we will,” Abby responds. “And I suppose you should call me Abby.”

 

Bellamy looks even more pleased, and Abby looks begrudging once again. Clarke has to keep herself from laughing. This, she supposes, is part of what family is for, this kind of entertainment. Between surviving the reception and watching Bellamy and her mother interact, this trip truly has defied her expectations.

 

The flight home isn’t nearly as stressful as the flight there, but it’s still long. They decide to try and work on their paper on the plane, which is productive but takes a lot of energy (and inspires more than one request from the people in front of them to keep it down when they start arguing about the conclusion). By the time they get back to Clarke’s apartment, it’s not too late in the day thanks to the time change, but they’re exhausted nonetheless.

 

“How do you feel about taking a nap and ordering food after?” Clarke asks as she puts her bag to the side and grabs Bellamy’s hand to tug him towards the bedroom.

 

“I think that’s a great plan,” he replies.

 

She kicks off her shoes and falls back onto the bed, letting out a long breath. He follows suit and soon they’re lying there on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling.

 

“We made it,” she says. “We survived.”

 

Bellamy turns his head to look at her and smiles. “We did. Not bad for a first trip together.”

 

“That _was_ our first trip together, wasn’t it,” she says, and then she laughs. “Of course it had to be for an insanely intense reason. Please, for our next trip, can we go somewhere relaxing? Preferably without sad speeches?”

 

He reaches for her hand and laces his fingers with hers. “Where do you want to go?”

 

She rolls onto her side and looks at him. “I don’t know. We’re going to France in May, of course, but that doesn’t count. So… I don’t know. Where do you want to go?”

 

“Well, I’d like to take you to Philly sometime, to show you where I’m from. You won’t need to pack your pearls for that trip, I promise,” he says with a low laugh.

 

Clarke’s heart swells as she looks at him, loving the way his eyes search hers hopefully as he talks about sharing that place with her.

 

“I’d love to go,” she says, kissing the back of his hand.

 

“And we’re also really not that far from Hawaii,” he continues. “So we should probably go there sometime.”

 

“Let’s go in December when it’s all dark and rainy here,” Clarke replies, excited, and then she has another idea. “Oooh, I’ve also always really wanted to go to Tanzania, to visit Olduvai Gorge. We have to go there.”

 

“To the oldest paleoarchaeological site in the world? Twist my arm,” Bellamy replies with a grin. “You know I have some connections at that site, we can get the real behind-the-scenes tour.”

 

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from a star paleo idiot like yourself,” she teases, and he laughs and lightly yanks a lock of her hair in retribution.

 

“We can go anywhere, you know,” Bellamy says softly as his fingers tangle lightly with her tresses. “Anywhere in the world, whenever we want. Well, when we’re not working, but you know what I mean.”

 

“I do,” Clarke says, squeezing his hand. “The future is ours.”

 

“It really is,” he replies, squeezing back.

 

Clarke feels like she’s smiling with her entire being. She likes thinking in future tense with him.

 

 

 

_The End_

 

 


End file.
